


Heart on a Hook

by Footloose



Series: Muggle Magic [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, First Meetings, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 21:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12177063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: Fledging Dark Lords as inadvertent matchmakers.  Or: When Percival Graves meets Newt Scamander for the first time.





	Heart on a Hook

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Limoncello_Bella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limoncello_Bella/gifts).



Percival Graves' grandfather would have a few choice things to say about the modern world. 

And, while he was alive, he shared his opinion. Often. Loudly. Frequently. 

Unlike most of the older members of MACUSA's council, the former Director had never complained about the younger generation and their wayward ways. Instead, he would stab his cane in the air and pound it on the ground in emphasis before proceeding to remind everyone that Grindelwald had nearly taken over the Wizarding World because the Wizarding World was stagnant and unchanging.

People would scoff and shake their heads indulgently. Even into his late years, the former Director Graves had retained a tremendous reputation, but no reputation could be so sterling that it would protect against the occasional whisper that he'd gone a little too indulgently into his cups, or that he'd been going senile. He'd heard them, of course he had, but it only got him more riled up.

And then, of course, Percival Graves -- the first one -- would go on a rant about the strict procedures, regulations, laws, sub-clauses, amendments, and restrictions established by MACUSA and how they'd nearly gotten him killed during the First War and in the aftermath. He would insist that the strict separation of authority -- unchanged after all these decades -- were what made it possible for Grindelwald to kidnap him and to impersonate him in the first place.

He had worried that it would happen again. Voldemort had proved that history could, indeed, repeat itself after a fashion, when he nearly won the Second Great War by completely corrupting the so-called more modern British Ministry of Magic. Except, thankfully, Potter had gotten in the way of that. However, the Ministry never sorted itself out, citing, _Problem solved!_ With no new danger to the wizarding world, the original Percival Graves had eventually lost his audience.

But Percival Graves the original had had an audience of one for nearly a decade until Percival Graves the younger went to Ilvermorny. He'd proceeded to share those hard-learned lessons whenever his grandson had gone home for the holidays. Percival the younger had carried those lessons with him throughout his training for the Aurors, as he climbed up the ranks, and eventually took his place as Director, keeping to the family legacy.

Merlin, but Percival missed the old fart.

Many years after his grandfather passed away, Percival remembered the stories and the lessons. There would always be another Dark Lord. One day, one of those Dark Lords would take full advantage of MACUSA's weaknesses and make another attempt to take over the world. Quite like the grandfather with whom he shared a name, Percival Graves had worked hard to earn his ruthless reputation, and he'd done it by hunting down the most vicious of criminals with the intention of never letting a Dark Lord take root on American soil.

However, if there was to be a Dark Lord, Percival certainly hoped that it wouldn't be Sanctimonious Brown.

According to his file, his real name was much less intimidating, and he must have felt the need to compensate for the fact that he was five foot, two inches and as baby faced as they came. Despite being the one in chains, Percival had trouble taking _Sanctimonious_ Brown seriously.

"… and that's why you'll never stop me!" Sanctimonious stood up straighter, shoulders back, spine straight, looking about as natural as someone who spent his teenage years imitating proper Pureblood posture in front of a mirror.

It took Percival a moment to realize that Sanctimonious had finished his little Dark Lord speech -- probably practiced that one in front of the mirror, too, Percival thought dourly -- and that he was expected to make some sort of a response.

Percival dutifully rattled his chains and tried to look weak and defeated.

Sanctimonious turned around with an impressive tangle of robes he had no doubt copied from Voldemort -- at least Grindelwald had had _style_ \-- and stormed out. The door slammed shut behind him. Magic whipped out and turned the deadbolts on the locks. It was a nice little show of strength, but Percival had both seen and done more impressive things in his life, and this display barely made the top ten list.

"He's a numpty, that one, yeah?"

Percival startled. He hadn't seen anyone else in the subbasement, but there were only a couple of cheap incandescent light bulbs to provide illumination. Even without the magic dampening the electrical current, Percival should have realized the subbasement was larger than he'd first thought.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to spook you," the voice said. It was a sweet voice, a gentle and comforting tenor, and quickly settled Percival's fist instincts that he'd been imprisoned with one of Sanctimonious Brown's cronies. "If I stay in the dark and keep mum, he forgets I'm here and I don't have to listen to him blather his rubbish Dark Lord speeches. He practices them, you know. They don't improve."

There was a clatter of chains, and a slim man with unruly strawberry-blond hair and a smattering of freckles across his cheeks appeared within the frame of dim light bulb glow. He was twisted somewhat awkwardly. His chains were at the very end of their length.

"Newt Scamander," the man said. 

There weren't many Scamanders in the world, and fewer still who were called Newt. "Theseus's baby brother?"

He was answered with narrowed eyes. Percival quashed a smile. Newt didn't look anything like Theseus, but that was exactly the same expression Percival had seen on Theseus when his Auror instincts kicked in. Hoping that Theseus had at least mentioned him, he introduced himself. "Percival Graves."

"The bloke who hauled Theseus out of Godric's Hollow when it all went to Hell during Winter Calends?" Newt asked, brightening.

"Was it November then?" Percival asked. He honestly didn't remember. 

Like many other Aurors, he'd gone overseas to lend support to the war effort when Death Eaters nearly decimated the Ministry of Magic's complement in retaliation for Voldemort's death. Percival was sent to Godric's Hollow with several other locals when reports of mass destruction had come in, and arrived in time to save a group of Aurors from being completely crushed by falling walls.

He saved Theseus' hide several hours later. Theseus had took cover in the collapsed cellar of a burnt ruins that was some sort of monument, where he'd been bleeding out from a severe slashing curse. His magical core had been too drained to cast a simple _Episkey_ on himself to do so much as slow down the blood loss. Unfortunately, they were both pinned down at the time, since more Death Eaters had arrived, and somewhere in-between casting a more powerful healing spell, sharing a magical core, and blind side- _Apparate_ in the general vicinity of Theseus' vague pointer finger, they'd become good friends.

So good that nearly all of Theseus owls contained inches-long rants about his baby brother's adventures. Percival probably knew more about Newt than he had a right to.

"I guess it must have been." Percival answered his own question with a shake of his head. He always felt odd when the first snows fell, heavy with weight and responsibility, as if he'd taken on someone's life in addition to his own, and was meant to protect it. The feeling never lasted. It must have something to do with the life-debt incurred between himself and Theseus, despite Theseus having repaid him in kind two days after Yule of that same year. Percival never gave that feeling much thought. Magic was a funny thing, always demanding something. He was sure his grandfather would have had something to say about that, too.

"I'd shake your hand, but, well --" Newt raised one hand, the chain stopping the movement with a loud clank.

Percival snorted. "Given the circumstances, I'm sure I can find it in me to forgive you the slight. Does your brother know you're here?"

Newt rolled his eyes. "I'm a bloody adult. Why does everyone ask me that?"

Percival laughed at the indignation, startling himself. He couldn't remember the last time he'd so much as cracked a smile. Not for months, that was for certain, not while the recent surge of violent activity from some cult or another that needed to be squashed before the No-Maj noticed. Percival certainly hadn't expected to find something funny after he'd been tricked, kidnapped, tortured, and locked up in chains in some wanna-be Dark Lord's basement.

Newt's expression screwed tight with annoyance, and Percival found himself answering despite having promised to never reveal any of Theseus' protective plots over his brother. "Maybe because Theseus tells everyone he meets to watch out for you, even if there's no chance you'd ever meet."

"Ugh," Newt said, his complaint both concise and pointed. Percival bit down on his lower lip and looked away when Newt slumped dramatically against the concrete wall. "Of course he does that. I should've known. I didn't tell him I was coming here. I didn't even know I was coming here, for what it's worth."

He rattled his chains a bit. Percival didn't know that the sound of rattling chain could come with such _cheek_.

No, Newt was nothing like Theseus, neither in appearance nor demeanour. Theseus kept his dark hair short and nearly-shorn to the skull, as if he'd never shaken off his early years as a soldier at war. His gaze perpetually swung between flinty no-nonsense and a thousand-mile stare, unnerving anyone who didn't know him well. And, more dangerous than anything, Theseus' pureblood manners were brought to bear whenever he needed to cut someone down as _politely_ as possible.

Newt's strawberry-blond hair was a messy mass of waves in desperate need of a civilized haircut. His eyes were unguarded and freely expressive of emotions, but rather than giving him an air of innocence, he seemed _worldly_ , as if he'd seen too much in his life and kept it all close to his heart, and it perpetually brimmed over. Already, Percival noticed that if Newt had been made to learn the rules of polite society, he only applied them as an afterthought, as if trying to smooth down awkwardness when his unbridled charm wasn't enough.

Despite the circumstances, Percival was charmed. He'd always been. From the moment Theseus weakly extracted a promise that Percival look out for his baby brother while bleeding out in Godric's Hollow, to every time Theseus complained Newt had brought home a dangerous wild beast, _again_ from parts unknown and the Ministry was having a raging fit about it, Percival's hard heart had been captured. 

It was a secret he shared with no one, least of all _Theseus_ , who would kill him for perving on his only sibling, but Percival had long harboured a small fantasy that he would be the one to tame Newt's wayward and wanderlusting ways.

Watching Newt now, Percival realized it was a fantasy he'd never be able to achieve. That was all right, he decided, because it was the challenge that appealed the most. Though they'd only just met and had barely spoken a few words, Percival decided that it _very much_ appealed.

However, he couldn't in good conscience do anything about his interest as long as they were chained down with unbreakable magic-binding shackles while imprisoned in a seemingly nigh-inescapable basement. He stared down at his hands, examining the shackles in the poor light. Runes were acid-etched into the metal, which had been hammered and hardened, rather than cold-cast. There was a slim chance that there would be flaws in the construction, but he'd waste his strength trying to find it. The chains weren't ensorcelled, but they were of mechanical, rather than magical, make, which told Percival that they had been purchased in a No-Maj hardware store.

That probably meant they were in a No-Maj neighbourhood, too.

Percival knew that the unchanged and increasingly restrictive MACUSA laws meant that no one would notice he was gone in much the same way that no one had noticed his grandfather being replaced with the most feared Dark Lord of the time. If, by sheer luck, someone happened to notice, the last place that the Aurors would initiate a search was in an area _infested_ with No-Maj. There was no telling how long that they would be imprisoned if they waited for a rescue.

"How did he kidnap you? How long have you been here?" Percival asked abruptly.

"You first," Newt said, but he looked worried. "I have seniority here. Kidnapped first and all. I'd like to hear how the great Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security and Law Enforcement, got snatched by that wanker."

Percival made a nonplussed sound that came out more like an embarrassed sigh. "Girl Guide cookies," he admitted.

"Sorry, what?" 

"Girl Guide cookies," Percival said, a little louder. "Girl Guides are --"

"I know who the Girl Guides are. Terrifying blighters that grow up into even more terrifying juggernauts of feminine power. Master manipulators and shrewd charmers with enough cunning to make Slytherin House proud. That's not what I'm asking," Newt said. "Are you telling me they knocked on your door and snatched you?"

Percival gave Newt a withering look. "My house is unplottable and under the _Fidelius_ , thank you very much. It was nothing like that. A small band accosted me a few blocks from the Woolworth building. They had Thin Mints."

"Thin Mints," Newt repeated flatly. Percival's eyes narrowed. He was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement for a reason. He was an incomparable investigator. His instincts were unparalleled. His duelling skills were believed equal to his own grandfather's, who had remained a duellist undefeated even against Grindelwald. He saw evidence most other Aurors never noticed. That was how he didn't miss the small, amused quirk of amusement tugging at Newt's mouth.

"Thin Mints," Percival said firmly. Then, because he was a little mortified at his own weaknesses, he snapped, "Don't judge me."

Newt burst out laughing.

Percival endured it with grace. Newt's laughter had nothing against the contempt that MACUSA's council could lob at him when they questioned his approach on criminal cases. And, anyway, it was nice to hear Newt's laugh. It was soft, hysterical, very nearly a combination of a grunting snort and a behind-the-hand giggle. Percival had imagined it would be like Theseus' loud, braying, hand-on-the-chest, head-thrown-back hyena bark, and he was pleasantly surprised.

He waited until it died down, and very sternly said, "Your turn."

"Ah," Newt said, sobering quickly despite his still-lingering amusement. "I'm sad to say that it didn't involve Thin Mints. Theseus would never let me live that down."

Newt shrugged and shifted until his back was flat against the wall. The change in position gave some slack to his chains, but also shadowed some of his face, making it difficult to make him out in anything other than tone of voice. 

"Would you believe I was in Africa when I heard that someone had poached a Nundu from Maasai Mara Reserve? The Nundu's shrinking territory has enough of an impact on an already-declining population without stupid people wanting one for their collection. I tracked the poachers, but I was too late, the Nundu was already shipped to a buyer --"

Newt blew out his breath and gestured. It was a small movement, limited by the length of the chains, and there was something rude in the curt jerk toward the door, but it was enough to point fingers without naming names. _And here I am_ , he didn't say.

Long fingers drummed on Newt's knee before he continued.

"Didn't expect the wanker to take exception when I tried to free Pearl from her cage. I still have the bump on my head, and I'm not entirely sure how long I've been here, but at least two days," Newt admitted. Worry coloured his expression again, and he glanced furtively to the other side of the basement. 

Percival followed his gaze, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. As basements went, this one was fairly bare. Sanctimonious Brown must have done a swept when he'd designed the room as a dungeon, because, at first glance, Percival couldn't see anything that could be used to pry himself loose or as a weapon.

There was a mass of folded coarse burlap near the stairs. A couple of buckets that served no real use where they were. A chair that was close to the doorway, with an old style salesman travelling case tucked beneath it, but both were out of reach of the length of chains. 

"I don't suppose --" Newt hesitated, once more with a furtive glance toward… toward the suitcase, Percival decided. He licked his lip; the motion was surprisingly distracting given their dismal conditions. "Theseus said you could do wandless magic?"

"I can," Percival allowed modestly. He wasn't above showing off for the purpose of impressing the people he liked or intimidating the people he didn't, but there was one, sad reality. He tapped the magic-suppression shackles. "Unfortunately, not at the moment."

"Blast it," Newt said. He looked away, a red flush on his cheeks. That wasn't anger or embarrassment, Percival saw, because he'd seen the glistening of tears before the shadow fell fully over his face. He was genuinely upset, and it took a moment to realize why.

 _The suitcase_.

Theseus told him all about the multiple biomes that were contained in an amazingly expansive wizardspace within what was an ordinary-looking case. The old-style suitcase was beaten and battered, with faded and cracked travel stickers along the side, frayed but reinforced corners, and a dark scorch mark along the side. Newt might never have completed his formal schooling, but the complexity of the magic required for such a construction stank of absolute genius. Percival had wanted to see it ever since Theseus first mentioned Newt's latest harebrained scheme.

It was a harebrained scheme that Newt was worried about, and Percival wondered how many animals he had in there right now. More importantly, how many tools might he have in that suitcase that might be able to break the magic-suppression shackles?

"That's your case, isn't it? Percival asked. He stood up before Newt answered with a faint nod. The chain only had enough slack to bring him halfway, and was at the wrong angle for him to do a full-body stretch and foot-grab for the suitcase, but that wasn't his plan. Percival laid down, arms extended, and hooked a foot through the burlap material. 

He hauled it over to the wall and stretched out as close as he could to Newt, tossing him part of the folded fabric. Newt stared at him in confusion, but quickly understood Percival's idea, and didn't ask any questions.

Ripping the burlap, however, proved to be more difficult than Percival anticipated. They didn't have any sharp edges, and even if they did, the material wasn't worn enough to tear cleanly. Newt made a noise of frustration and attempted to bite into it with his teeth. Percival barely managed to stop him from hurting himself when Newt brightened and scrambled into the shadows, burlap material and all.

"Newt --"

"Pearl? Pearl --" 

Percival frowned. Was there someone else in the basement? He started to call out when he heard a stumble and a thud against reverberating metal. A soft, sleepy yowl reminded Percival about the Nundu named _Pearl_.

Alarmed, Percival shot to his feet, ready to dive into the shadows after Newt, only to stop short when he reached the limits of the chains and nearly snapped his arms out of his sockets. "Newt! Newt, come back from there!"

"Can you be quiet for a second?" Newt asked, his tone chastising. "You're scaring her."

"Merlin," Percival muttered, covering his face with his hands. 

He'd always thought that Theseus exaggerated the stories he told about Newt's adventures in his letters, and had always laughed at the sheer panic that vibrated from the paper. Percival was learning first-hand that Theseus did not exaggerate. He was starting to understand the realities associated with Newt Scamander, and saw that any kind of friendship -- or _more_ \-- would be far more of a challenge than he'd realized.

"All right, then," Percival said, to no one in particular. He wasn't one to shy away from a bit of hard work and determinedly accepted his fate. Louder, but careful of his tone, he asked, "Newt? Are you still alive?"

"Just one more second," Newt said, and that was when Percival noticed the faint sounds of ripping fabric. Percival held his breath and fought not to panic. "Good girl," Newt crooned, gentle and sweet. Percival scowled, jealous of Newt's attention to a wild, dangerous magical animal, and refusing to admit it even to himself.

It wasn't _one more second_. More like a few minutes. But Newt did emerge from the shadows, looking a bit rumpled but otherwise none the worse for wear. He had a bright grin on his face and several long strips of thick burlap hanging from his arm.

Newt's fingers were deft and quick with the burlap. He tied each end with complicated slip knots that Percival didn't think he could reproduce, but which proved more than capable of holding up to his testing yanks. In the end, Percival was the one to successfully lasso the chair down low on the legs, and to carefully drag both the chair and the suitcase over.

The chair scraped the floor loudly along the way, but there was no helping that. Luckily, the Nundu started to howl, covering up most of the noise they made. The high-pitched yowling sent chills down Percival's spine, but Newt didn't so much as blink. He was too focused on the suitcase, and quickly cast the chair aside.

Newt fell on his knees next to the suitcase. He tore the rope holding it shut, did a complicated series of taps along the edge, and flipped up the thickset flap. "Pickett! Pickett! Are you there?"

"The Bowtruckle?" Percival confusedly asked. Theseus mentioned Newt's animals at least once per letter, minimum. He couldn't fathom why Newt would want to bring a spindly tree-mimicking animal out of the case when what they could really use was an Erumpent or two to burst them out of their prison.

Granted, an Erumpent in a No-Maj neighbourhood broke several laws, including the Secrecy Act that was the livelihood of MACUSA. Percival would technically have to arrest himself if he suggested and participated in such an activity, but that was neither here nor there, because the Bowtruckle had, after several minutes, climbed out of the case, and was now standing, limbs on hips, angrily chittering scoldingly at Newt.

And Newt? He looked several shades of apologetic and embarrassment and relieved. "Pick -- Pickett! You can lecture me all you want later, but we're in a bit of a bind." He held up his hands, and the Bowtruckle, which continued to screech in its minuscule voice as Newt spoke, abruptly cut itself off in mid-rant. 

Pickett leapt from the suitcase to Newt's hands with surprising agility. It tugged at the shackles as if it meant to pry it apart, and seemingly vanished beneath them. Newt didn't seem concerned, because he leaned to look into the suitcase, hesitated with a visible wince, and called down, "Fred? Freddy? Can you come out? I have a job for you."

Then, a second later, Newt shook his head, grimacing. He didn't need to explain, because a Niffler's head popped out of the suitcase's top quite a great deal faster than Pickett had arrived. It squirmed, pushing itself against the edges, and held its breath to make itself a little slimmer before finally emerging into a rolling ball with a faint pop that sounded a lot like a muffled crack of apparition. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this," Newt muttered. He rubbed his free wrists absentmindedly, made a few noises of absolute praise, and asked Pickett to free Percival, too. Newt turned to the Niffler, who was brushing down its fur, and dancing from foot to foot in anticipation. "I need you to steal two things for me. _Nothing shiny_ ," he said quickly. "Do you remember my wand?"

The Niffler nodded and rubbed its paws together greedily. 

Newt turned to Percival. "What does your wand look like?"

Percival blinked repeatedly, trying to shake off how affected he was by this display of leadership. Newt must have had time to come up with a plan to escape, but despaired of it because he couldn't do much without a wand or his case. Even without either, the mere forethought of having an escape plan was more than some of MACUSA's Aurors would have managed if they were in the same situation. Percival forced himself to focus on the annoyance that Theseus could have mentioned that the Bowtruckle was a goddamned _lock pick_ , but it was turning in handy at the moment, so he couldn't complain, and answered the question.

He had to remember the question, first. "Fifteen inches, ebony, with a silver band and a silver base." Percival elected not to reveal the core, but the way Newt's eyebrow rose hinted that he recognized the style, and probably guessed at the rest.

"You heard him, Fred," Newt said. "A bad man took our wands. Can you get them back?"

The Niffler nodded enthusiastically. He started for the door when Newt hissed at him to stop.

"Take Dougal with you. I know he snuck out of the case. Neither of you can be seen, do you understand?"

The upturned chair shifted with a faint thump, as if someone had given it an "Aw, nuts!" kick, but the Niffler held out its paws and waved urgently. Percival had a sense of someone, or some _thing_ , taking the Niffler's hands, and the two of them abruptly disappeared.

He wanted to ask how the pair would even get out of the cell, but thought better of it. Instead, he scratched his forehead and sighed.

"Demiguise?" Percival asked, because it was the only thing that made sense. Theseus hadn't mentioned one of those, but the most obvious reason why would be because he'd never seen it.

"Demiguise," Newt confirmed, and came over. He helped Percival out of his shackles, rubbed his wrists to ease the burn left behind by the anti-magic shackles. 

Percival stared at his own arms, thinking that it was unearthly how Newt's touch could soothe and sear at the same time. It was only when he noticed Newt heading toward the shadows with a decisive step that Percival noticed the Bowtruckle perched on Newt's shoulder.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting Pearl," Newt said, vanishing in the shadows. Percival started to follow him, only to think better of it. He'd never seen a Nundu up close and particular, but Theseus had, quite by accident, and duly informed him that he'd had to change his pants. "I'm not leaving her here."

"Fine," Percival said, knowing better than to argue. Theseus had written odes to the ineffectiveness of stern lectures, of groundings, of threats. Percival wouldn't repeat those mistakes. He was a tactician, just as his grandfather was, and he knew how to pick his battles.

Instead, he hoped that the Niffler and the Demiguise would hurry up and return with their wands, in case the Nundu wasn't as friendly as Newt seemed to believe.

Percival listened to Newt's low tones as much as he did for sounds of a fledging Dark Lord approaching. He could undo the locks with a wandless _Alohomora_ , but without the anti-magic shackles suppressing Percival's senses, he was now aware of the traps and triggers on the locks, latch, and hinges. He was less confident in his ability to break those wards wandlessly, and immediately resolved to address that lack.

The creak of rusty iron and a shuffle off to the side drew Percival's wary attention. He stayed still; he'd learned from Theseus' letters and from his own on-the-job experiences. Best not to move too quickly around wild animals. Best not to move _at all_ around magical wild animals.

The Nundu was absolutely, abhorrently frightening. The slight swayback of her spine came to Newt's hip, her tail was nearly as long as she was, and her legs were long and gangly, as if she still had some growing to do. She leaned against Newt as he led her forward, encouraging her with gentle words that she probably didn't understand but didn't need to. He supported her as she walked, likely dazed, probably under the effect of some drug.

Percival never liked smugglers of magical animals, and he liked them less, now. What had they given Pearl, that she would be so unsteady on her feet?

She pulled up short, as if realizing Percival was there. A low growl accompanied the flare of spikes around her crown, neck, and shoulders. Against every instinct, Percival averted his eyes, letting his shoulders slump to make himself seem as small as possible. It was no mean feat given his size, but it seemed to work, because Pearl returned her attention to Newt, who petted her flank fearlessly.

"You'll like George, I promise," Newt said, continuing to lead Pearl to the suitcase. Percival wished he could watch, but he was afraid Pearl would react poorly. "He's like you, a little displaced, but I've been working on finding him a new home for ages. I thought I'd leave him at your reserve, it's such a lovely place, and he liked it well enough, but he still returned to the suitcase. I'm sure he's only being lazy, because he has everything he could ever want, and he doesn't have to work for his food. Go on, then, I'll be right behind -- that's a good girl --"

The Nundu's tentative step into the suitcase stretched her out in a vacuum-suck as she was pulled in, vanishing from sight. There was no sound, and she didn't so much as mewl in surprise; hopefully that meant that she hadn't been hurt in the transition. Percival rather doubted that Newt would ever do anything that would harm his animals. Or any animal, rather.

Still, with the proverbial Nundu out of the room, Percival felt himself able to breathe again. His flight-or-fight instincts continued to drum through his veins and there was a light sheen of sweat on his skin as an unfortunate effect, but he was able to look up again, and when he did --

He couldn't look away for the absolute, abject _fury_ surging to the surface.

"I'm going to go down really quick, put her in one of the spare areas for now. It's lucky that I haven't taken down the savannah yet. It's close enough to a Nundu's territory that Pearl should be fine until I can introduce her to George. Normally I wouldn't fret, but I was relocating a small herd of red tritelopes before I got wind of the poaching, and I hope she won't drive herself crazy trying to hunt --" Newt paused. "Do I have something on my face?"

"You do, in fact, have something on your face," Percival said, his sense of propriety withering under the strength of his outrage. He walked over to Newt, unclenching his hands from their fists, and very gently took his chin to inspect the bruising.

An ugly scrape along the jaw could only come from rough gravel. The cut lip could have been caused by anything. The slightly-swollen droopy right eye was a gruesome mixture of purples and greens. Percival's mouth thinned in a tight line. It took him nearly a minute of caressing whatever unbruised skin he could find with his thumb before he thought he could say something remotely coherent.

"You said you only had a bump on your head."

"Um," Newt said, swallowing hard. He pulled away and turned to the suitcase, his head dropping. His shaggy hair covered his face in the gesture, but not before Percival took note of the red flush prettily darkening his cheeks.

The question whether it was in embarrassment or shyness was answered in the way Newt shrugged his shoulder and shot a glance over his shoulder. The glance was likely not meant to be anything but affirming, but to Percival, it looked coy, almost flirtatious.

 _Damn it, Newt_ , Percival thought, because he was about to make a fool out of himself over what he believed was reciprocated interest. Fortunately, the voice in his head sounded unpleasantly like Theseus, and that was as cold a shower as Percival had ever gotten in his life.

"He asked me a few questions," Newt said, turning his attention to the suitcase. He stared at it so intently that Percival was afraid he might dive in head-first to escape. "Mostly he wanted to know why I was nosing around, and by the time he finally decided I really was just a lost Brit wandering around, he lost interest."

"I see," Percival said, unhappy. The story didn't make things better for its lack of detail, and Percival had enough of an imagination to know _how_ Sanctimonious Brown might have asked his questions.

"For a muppet, he has an awfully strong left hook," Newt said. He rubbed his jaw with curled fingers, his eyes remaining downcast, and finally pointed down hastily. "I'd better… I won't be long."

Newt vanished into the suitcase with practiced skill that eclipsed the natural feline grace of the Nundu. He also faded out with a lingering glance at Percival that confirmed his earlier suspicion.

There was definitely reciprocated interest.

Percival smiled. The smile faded a second later when he turned to examine the locks on the door, remembered who had put them there, and the circumstances behind the lucky meeting with Newt Scamander.

"Sanctimonious Brown," Percival growled. If there was ever a top 100 list of burgeoning Dark Lords, Sanctimonious was a firm one hundred and one. Percival was willing to bet that a fair amount of _Felix Felicis_ had gone into this current plot. How else but by blind luck could Sanctimonious Brown have acquired a wild Nundu and not gotten himself killed? 

Percival wasn't an idiot. He had no doubt that Theseus would have taught Newt all his Auror tricks. He didn't believe for a second that Newt would have allowed himself to be captured so easily. And, keeping to the theme that he wasn't an idiot, how else would he have gotten bamboozled by a band of No-Maj Girl Guides on a street corner on his way to work, only to get himself captured in the process?

It was about time that he and Newt had a bit of _Felix Felicis_ on their side, despite the potion being on MACUSA's highly illegal and strictly regulated potions list. That luck happened several minutes later when something pointy poked at his pants leg.

He looked down.

It was his wand.

Before he could grab it, Dougal released Freddy, no longer hiding him from sight. Freddy whipped the wand out of Percival's reach, holding it protectively. The Niffler cradled the silver end close to its fur, as if reluctant to let it go. Of course he was -- the silver was quite shiny.

With a sigh, Percival checked his pockets. His grandfather's watch was not an option. The infernal smart-Floo he had had no choice but to accept as part of the job had been confiscated by Sanctimonious Brown, who hadn't dared come close to do much of a search for weapons or devices. Percival still had a pocketful of galleons, a few sickles, and more importantly, several No-Maj silver coins that he'd picked up somewhere. He thought one of them was called an Eagle, and it was the Eagle that was the shiniest of the lot.

He held up the coin, making sure that it sparkled in the dim light. Once he had the Niffler's attention, wide-eyed and bill open, Percival held it out. "Trade?"

The Niffler snatched at it. Percival, who was an Auror and had Auror reflexes, held it out of reach just in time. 

"Trade?" he offered again.

The Niffler petted Percival's wand a few times, but eventually, and quite mulishly, held it out.

Percival gave him the coin, which disappeared from between his fingers before he could even blink. Grinning at his painless success and wishing he could brag about it to Theseus, who had had to beg Newt for help when the Niffler took Theseus' wand, Percival straightened, and froze. Newt was out of the suitcase, his cheeks a little flushed, his mouth parted in surprise, his eyes wide and glittering.

Newt looked away, his cheeks reddening even more, and muttered something under his breath about _Getting in the case_. He stopped the Niffler with a stern, "Not you. Paws up."

There was no attempt to wheedle for a better trade. The Niffler held up its arms with a resigned sigh that sounded far too human. Newt ruffled his hands through the Niffler's fur. Several shiny items fell out -- a silver-plated mirror, a complete set of silver utensils, something gold and unidentifiable, an impressive pile of coins that now included Percival's silver Eagle, and one of those oversized cowboy-style belt buckles that seemed to be all the rage these days. Percival thought that there would be no end to the Niffler's holdback ability, and he'd never find out for certain, because Newt stopped the body search when an ash-coloured wand with some sort of fossilized bone handle, adorned with a shiny, pearl-like material, finally dropped out.

"Thank you, Fred," Newt said, patting the Niffler's head. He wordlessly swept the Niffler's hoard into the suitcase. Percival considered stopping him, since he might be taking evidence against Sanctimonious Brown, but Newt looked so chagrined to be enabling the Niffler's kleptomania that he decided to broach the subject at another time.

"Shall we?" Percival suggested, sweeping a hand toward the door.

"Gentlemen first," Newt said with a quick grin, closing the traveling case and hefting it up as if it didn't weight a thing.

"Certainly," Percival said. "Allow me."

Newt's laugh was beautiful.

Percival ruthlessly tore through the wards on the door, released the extraneous locks with silent _Alohomora_ , cast a sensor charm to determine whether anyone was in the corridor at the top of the stairs, and a different charm to detect the presence of other living creatures in the building. Completely unimpressed by the lack of anything more complicated than what he'd already encountered and the absence of someone to throw into prison, Percival walked up the stairs, opened the door, and waited for Newt to walk through.

Newt limped a little and was trying to hide it. Percival catalogued the newest observation and added it to the list of things that Sanctimonious Brown was going to have to pay back in kind. The least of those items was not, surprisingly, the indignity of having been kidnapped under such odious circumstances, but rather, the lack of additional security precaution that came with the absurd conviction that they wouldn't manage to escape in the first place.

They walked through the No-Maj neighbourhood in companionable silence. The brownstone buildings were plain and ordinary. Small green lawns were enclosed in wrought iron in raised beds above the sidewalk. A white dog barked at them through the window of a first floor apartment as they walked by, a Siamese cat a few houses down was basking in the sun, licking its paw, and ignored them. Though few in number, an even distribution of men and women passed them, jogging, speed-walking, pushing baby carriers, or carrying groceries.

No one paid any attention to them.

Two blocks later, Percival stopped at the streetlight. Traffic was mild, and there was an alleyway between a 24/7 shop and an used book store not too far away from where they could _Apparate_ or summon assistance. Newt saw it, too, but he didn't make a move to head that way any more than Percival did.

"Well," Percival said, mostly to fill the silence that had suddenly become awkward between them. He glanced back the way they came, his mouth set in a grim line. He wanted to spend more time with Newt, but at the same time: Responsibilities. He exhaled slowly, swallowed his disappointment, and said, "If we set up a stake-out before he comes back, we'll be able to capture him before he bolts."

"Good thinking," Newt said, his eyes off to the side, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

"I'll have one of my best Aurors question you. Goldstein won't rough you up too much --"

"Oh, no, no, no," Newt said, alarmed. He shook his head. "I'm not here. I was never here. I came for Pearl. I have Pearl. And now I have to go --"

Percival frowned. "Newt --"

" _I'm not here_ ," Newt repeated, arresting Percival mid-word with a solid, unyielding stare. But just as quickly as it happened, Newt looked away, and ran his free hand through his hair and down the back of his head, and grimaced.

"You're not here," Percival repeated flatly. He tried to think of what that could mean, even though he already knew, from Theseus' letters, exactly what that meant. He closed his eyes and rubbed his thumbs over his throbbing temples. Very softly, he asked, "Newt. Are you in the country illegally?"

Percival thought about the traveling case. There was a Niffler, a Demiguise, definitely one Nundu, with allusions toward a possible second Nundu. The first two needed permits, while the latter two absolutely demanded form RAG-0728, in triplicate, along with approval signatures from the head of the Magical Creatures Division, the Director of Magical Security and Law Enforcement, and, since the Chairman of Immigration Services was laid up at St. Josephina's with a bad case of strewing gout, President Quahog.

Quahog owed him so many favours and Loriann Esmeralda had three copies of Newt's latest book on her bookshelf that she'd probably love to see autographed, but Percival didn't want to have to explain to them why he needed their authorization immediately. They'd see right through his façade to the heart-shaped adoration he couldn't quite keep tempered down.

The longer he thought about it, the more willing he found himself to undergo those terrible trials. Whether or not he would have to remained to be seen, because Newt still hadn't answered him.

Half-expecting Newt to have vanished on the spot, Percival dropped his hands and opened his eyes. Newt was still there, though he had a cute schoolboy two-handed grip on his suitcase. His head was ducked down. He watched Percival through those thick eyelashes, grinning as if he knew he was in trouble, and was preparing to pull every trick in the book to get out of it. 

Thanks to Theseus, Percival knew all of Newt's tricks. It didn't mean that he was immune to them, unfortunately, because he felt himself caving under Newt's effortless emotional _Reducto_. With a sigh, he waved Newt off. "Go. You were never here. We've never met. I wouldn't know you if we crossed paths on a busy street."

Newt's grin was blinding. He backed away a few steps, waved his fingers, turned and headed down the sidewalk.

"You'd still turn my head if I saw you, though," Percival mused quietly, watching him go.

Newt abruptly stopped walking. Though he kept his head down, he tilted his head as if listening to something, or perhaps considering. Percival wondered if, perhaps, he'd changed his mind --

And abruptly remembered how often Theseus complained that it was nearly impossible to keep a secret from Newt, because he had ears like a Giant Waxing Moth -- 

_You know the ones, Percy,_ Theseus had complained over international Floo, once, _The meat-eating ones bigger than your face, with the creepy furry faces and a crescent moon on the wings? Newt told me these moths hear bats in the pitch black and flock out to hunt them down. Well, Newt's like that -- ears better than a moth's, I swear. I still haven't found a privacy charm that works against him._

\-- and, sure enough, Newt turned around, an eyebrow raised. Percival schooled his expression to be as flat as possible, but he wasn't certain how well he managed. The answer was apparently _Not well_ , because Newt raised his chin, his mouth curled in a tiny little grin, and his hooded gaze was likely more seductive that was possibly legal.

"I would, too," Newt announced, without preamble, context, or prompting. 

Percival didn't answer right away, too busy processing what Newt could possibly mean, but Newt didn't seem to need a response. 

"You know, I grew up hearing stories about an amazing Auror that my big brother knows. His wartime missions, his brave feats, his unshakable honour and steadfast loyalty. I love those stories, and I even fell a little bit in love with them. Wasn't until much, much later that I realized I was a lot in love with that Auror in particular, and made plans to meet him, someday."

He sounded so wistful that Percival felt a sharp pang in his chest. He was man enough to realize that it was a petty emotion. Jealousy.

Before he could reflect more on it, or even say a word, Newt crossed the distance between them. From this close, Percival noticed Newt was taller, but also that he seemed smaller because of the way he bowed his head and hunched his shoulders. The freckles lightly dusting across his cheekbones also peppered the bridge of his nose. His eyes were the improbable shade of much-pebbled turquoise.

"Newt," Percival managed, but he wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm going to be in Africa for a while. I need to get Pearl home, make sure that she'll be all right. Then, I'd like to see if I can convince George to stay there, too, even though it didn't work last time," Newt said, his eyes drifting down until they halted in the general area of Percival's mouth. "But after, I'm thinking it's about time I come visit America and finally meet Theseus's best friend. You might know him? His name's Percival Graves."

Newt kissed Percival before he could process the words.

It wasn't a great kiss. The kiss was off-centre. Dry. A little inexpert. But it was a honest kiss, with emotions crackling in the air around them. Those emotions slowly became withdrawn the longer Percival stood still, paralyzed by surprise and indecision.

The instant there was air between them, Percival snapped out of his daze and pressed forward. One hand slid possessively around Newt's waist to settle in the small of his back, the other cupped Newt's cheek. Percival gently tilted Newt's head to the perfect angle. He kissed Newt.

 _Properly_.

There was none of that fireworks blazing, earth-shaking, toe-curling bullshit from the No-Maj romance novels spilling across two library shelves in his private study. It wasn't perfect, they didn't fit like puzzle pieces, and there was no tingling under the skin. However, there was warmth, an inviting response, and clear, absolute signals that Newt wanted more.

Percival fancied that these little things were what made lasting legacies, like the story of King Arthur and Merlin, and he wasn't willing to let it go. A smile tugged at his lips during the kiss, and he felt Newt respond in kind until they were smiling stupidly at each other as they drew away.

As the last person who could be described as a sentimental sap, Percival shouldn't be capable of feeling the butterfly flutter in his belly that could only be appropriately described as a teenage crush tipping over into full-blown romantic love.

Newt ducked his head down. His smile was soft and shy, and as he turned away, he cast a sly look through those soft eyelashes.

"If I stay, I won't go, and I really, really need to go. I'll owl you," Newt promised. He gestured down the street to the unimpressive house they'd escaped from. "You have a bad guy to catch."

Percival watched while Newt flashed him a sweet smile and _Apparate_ d away.

He sighed wistfully, already planning out their wedding like a besotted idiot, and headed toward the alley where he could cast a _patronus_ and summon reinforcements.

As he leaned against a slightly overgrown cedar tree to wait for his Aurors to arrive, Percival thought about taking it easy on Sanctimonious Brown. If it hadn't been for the aspiring Dark Lord, the odds he'd have met Newt were uncomfortably small. He had to be grateful for that, at least.

But then he saw the man in question sauntering down the street, whistling with self-satisfaction and oozing smug confidence, and remembered the bruises on Newt's face, the cuts on his jaw, his limp.

Then, he decided, "Nah."

And moved to intercept. 

#

After having rushed to the Floo in the middle of the night in anticipation of news on a high-profile case and accidentally flashing Theseus several years ago, Percival had learned his lesson. This time, he made certain his dressing gown was tightly fastened before he sat down in the comfortable desk chair next to the wall-mounted Floo-fireplace.

With a flick of his hand, he accepted the call.

And, of course, it was Theseus. 

"Do you know what time it is?" Percival asked wearily.

"No," Theseus said, his avatar sun-faded in the multi-coloured flames. The signal wasn't very strong, which was a problem with international Floo -- something to do with climate change and sun spots, according to the witches and wizards who specialized in this sort of thing. Theseus rubbed his face, turned his head to the side, and gestured. " _Tempus_."

Percival drummed his fingers on his desk.

"Oh," Theseus said. He chuckled ruefully. "Got you out of bed, then?"

"You don't look like you've been near one in days," Percival remarked. "Finally broke up that illegal potion ring?"

"They were muggles, Percy. _Muggles_. Not a bloody clue what they were making or selling! They were marketing it as next-generation coconut or cocoa or something like that. Granger claims they nicknamed it after some sort of fizzy drink. Can you _imagine_? We found notebooks full of formulas that made our Arithmancy experts weep until that poncy Malfoy pointed out it looked alchemy. These bloody muggles came up with the recipe on their own! Do you know how long it took us to round them all up?"

"A while, I imagine." Percival snorted. "Your No-Maj police weren't much help, then?"

"They were bloody _fantastic_ , the bloody blighters. I let Weasley handle them, he's nicer than I am," Theseus complained. "How do you deal with them on your side of the ocean?"

"A disturbingly large application of memory charms, I'm afraid," Percival said, with a sigh. He cast a wandless spell toward the kitchen and hoped that he wouldn't mess up making a simple cup of tea. He didn't have the knack for it like his grandfather had, but then again, his grandfather had had decades to perfect the spell. "Too many old school Aurors in MACUSA's ranks clinging to the pre-Rappaport days. I've been working on changing that, but it's an uphill battle."

"Still no luck getting your president to do something about those stuffy rules and regulations, then?" Theseus asked, commiserating. Theseus was in the same situation as Percival, where the British Ministry of Magic was even more entrenched in old traditions and laws. They could fight for change all they wanted, but most of the time, it was breath wasted arguing with a brick wall.

"I'm learning to pick my battles," Percival admitted, in a tone he self-identified as, _I'm too old for this shit._

Theseus picked up on it, because he snorted and said, "You're just cranky because you can't keep up with all the new Dark Lords, old man."

"You're my age, you cantankerous bastard," Percival retorted, summoning his tea from the kitchen. It wobbled, spilled a bit, but finally settled on the desk next to his right hand. "You're the one who can't even handle a bunch of No-Maj who stumbled on an illegal potion recipe by accident."

"Two words, mate," Theseus said. He paused for effect. "Girl Guides."

"Oh, fuck off," Percival groused. "How'd you even hear about that?"

Theseus' laugh was big and boisterous, and Percival sighed to himself, muffling it behind his tea. He missed his dear friend, even if he was an ungenerous asshole most of the time. "I have my spies. Just like you have yours."

Percival blew out an annoyed breath and glanced to the window. It was still dark, and the sun wouldn't be up for two more hours. "Did you call because you wanted to shake your cane at me, or was there a reason?"

"Do I need a reason to chat with my best friend in the whole world?"

"Your only friend," Percival said dryly. He glanced at his tea, wishing he'd mastered the art of adding the right amount of honey. On this go, his tea had been made far too sweet.

"Well, yes. There's that," Theseus said. With a grunt, he said, "I'd have owled if I'd been at my desk to get my letters when they arrived, but I haven't been, but the fact of the matter is Newt."

"What's he done now?" Percival asked, hiding his smile behind his cup.

"Lately? Spends all his time in Africa gambolling with gazelles and playing fetch with hyenas. But for some reason, he's decided it's about time he goes to America." Theseus rubbed his face. "I'm too late to dissuade him since he's likely already on his way, but not too late to give you fair warning. Brace yourself. My brother's visiting."

"Lovely," Percival said, in his most neutral voice possible. "Do you know…?"

"Not a bloody thing, sorry," Theseus said, sounding truly apologetic. "I'm not sure Newt knows, either. Jotted something about it being about time he saw what North America had to offer, then segued about someone named Pearl that I thought was his bird until the end of the letter and realized he was talking about a Nundu that he'd rescued from poachers."

Theseus paused.

"You'll keep an eye out for him?" Theseus asked earnestly. "I talk about him enough. You must know what he's like by now. He's a fluffy Crup with the heart of a dumb unicorn -- no self preservation skills whatsoever. He'll cause chaos whether he makes trouble or somehow gets on the receiving end. I'd hate if he got hurt. Or worse, in gaol. I'm sure he's forgotten that he needs permits for his creatures --"

"I'll take care of the paperwork," Percival said calmly. He'd prepared the forms weeks ago and pressured Quahog to sign off on them by reminding him pointedly of the way he'd nearly mishandled the thestrals when the herd got loose when a short hauler flipped over. The president had been more than happy to compensate Percival in some way for all the unpaid overtime he'd had to do.

"And Newt?"

Percival sighed. "I suppose I could take a few days off to show him the sights."

Theseus blinked at him slowly. "I must be tired. I thought I heard you say you were going to take a few days off."

"Don't sass me. You took a month off last year," Percival pointed out.

"I was injured. The Healers at St. Mungo's put me in a full body bind. There was no helping it --"

"A likely story," Percival said, waving the argument aside. "You know very well that a few days is the least that I can do to protect my city."

Theseus snorted. It was a very unattractive chuckle. "Yeah, all right. I'll give you that. But you'll take care of him?"

"I'll take care of him," Percival said gently. It was an easy promise. "However. If you don't want me to tell Newt that you've been surviving on coffee and those horrible marmite-molasses-and-bacon sandwiches --"

"You're a peasant, they're _delicious_ \--"

"-- you'll get some sleep yourself. Also, I have every right to judge your bad taste in food. You like pumpkin juice," Percival said.

"You bottle water and market it as beer," Theseus retorted. He rubbed his face and relented. "I've got a meeting with the minster about this fiasco. I'd pawn it off on Potter, but Malfoy called him an idiot and dragged him home."

Theseus paused.

"Or he called me an idiot. I'm never sure. Malfoy's got a knack with complimentary insults. If I'd known they were a package deal, I would've re-thought promoting Potter as Deputy Head. Look, if I promise I'll go home after I talk to the minister, will you keep mum about my bad habits?"

"As long as you get some sleep," Percival said generously.

"Still coming to Octoberfest?"

"You're absolutely delirious. It's June, Theseus," Percival reminded him. "Go to bed, and ask me again in September."

A rude gesture rose and vanished in the flames of the Floo. The blurry haze of international Floo made it unclear, but Percival had been on the receiving end of Theseus' grumpiness often enough to know what the two-fingered salute looked like under every kind of obstruction.

Theseus' eyes softened. "Keep my brother safe, yeah? And tell him to owl me when he arrives."

"I will."

Percival watched the flames fizzle as the call was disconnected without so much as a polite good-bye, and shook his head in dismay at Theseus' manners. The Scamanders, though a small family, were as Pureblood as they came, but Theseus complained regularly about his peers despite sometimes acting like one himself, and Newt was so down to earth and lovely that no one would guess he was a blue-blooded aristocrat. 

He'd never find out how the two of them even managed to turn out to be as normal as they were.

With the soft sigh that always came when he thought about Newt, Percival stood up, leaving his tea on his desk, and locked up the Floo again. From the false dawn peeking through the buildings and lightening the sky, Percival guessed he had some time before he really did have to go in to the Woolworth building for a few hours before he could be officially considered on vacation.

He did his rounds around the house again. It was as much out of habit as it was a compulsion, particularly these days. Acidulous Smith had been one of Sanctimonious Brown's followers, a young, shaggy-haired man expelled from Ilvermorny by his third year for the illegal use of transfiguration for gruesome and unfortunately permanent human body modification. Somehow, he'd also had the ability to break _Fidelius_ charms.

Percival came home one day to Acidulous in the sitting room, wanting revenge for the capture and imprisonment of Sanctimonious Brown. Mostly, Acidulous had wanted to wax philosophical over the merits of his particular Dark Lord manifesto, and pointing out where Sanctimonious had gone wrong. Since he was untrained and stupid, it hadn't taken much to capture him.

But the breach had shaken Percival enough, throwing shades of Girl Guides at him in his nightmares, and his post-kidnapping hypervigilance had extended into an itch under his skin aching for security and safety at all costs. 

Strangely, he understood his grandfather's peculiar behaviour now, which had endured despite the decades since Grindelwald had captured and tortured him. Percival promised himself, over and over, that he would never let his own PTSD go so far. 

It was unfortunate that his proposed changes to MACUSA's laws or his attempts to borrow No-Maj psychological concepts to evaluate criminals hadn't gone anywhere. He thought he would have greater peace of mind if there was some measure of protection woven into the laws that governed the magical world. His only solace was in knowing that Theseus battled the same challenges.

All the doors were bolted. The windows closed and locked. The multi-layered wards untouched and impenetrable as always.

Satisfied, Percival headed up the stairs.

The house was one of many of the Graves properties in the city, though it was the smallest of them. Located close to his work, tucked away on a busy street, and charmed unnoticeable to No-Maj eyes and attempts at mapping. He spent more time than he wanted to admit to figure out how to modify those charms to include those annoying computerized street maps that were all the rage in No-Maj society nowadays and to compensate for discrepancies in GPS addresses, but he'd managed it.

Between a renewed _Fidelius_ , strengthened wards, and layers upon layers of charms, no one would bother him at home unless it was an emergency or an attack. Percival was prepared to eviscerate everyone who made either attempt.

Percival lingered in the doorway of his bedroom, and his admiration for the sight in front of him completely erased any guilt that he might have about lying -- by omission -- to Theseus.

Newt had sprawled out on the bed, taking over the warm spot Percival had left behind when he went to answer the Floo. In the process, Newt had also pulled the blankets down and away, accidentally setting himself into a tantalizing, incredibly pornographic pose.

Face-down and cuddling Percival's pillow, one leg raised across the blankets, and as bare as the day he was born, Newt's skin was illuminated in piecemeal fragments from the brightening sky cutting through the wide vertical window blinds. The slices of light were pale gray to yellow, a canary shade to a vibrant orange, from burning flames to a deep burgundy red that reminded Percival of Christmas Day.

Percival shrugged out of his dressing gown, dropped it to the floor, and crossed the room to reach the bed. He ran fingers from Newt's toes, down the arch of his foot, around the curve of his heel and along the concave swell behind his ankle. Percival traced the sharp line of Newt's shin, teased the curve of his calf, the scar tissue at his knee, the puckered evidence of an old graphorn attack that led the way up his thigh and hip.

That was where Percival found the bruises he'd left behind the night before. They were only a little wider than his fingers, darkening prettily against pale skin, and he followed the trail all the way down to the roundness of Newt's ass. His thumb slid across the lube they'd missed during their hasty cleaning charm before collapsing into satisfied sleep several hours ago, and --

Newt shifted, rolling further onto his belly, his leg canting off to the side, spreading himself wider and giving Percival a most wonderful, exceedingly private sight.

"God, yes," Newt moaned, pushing the pillows out of the way, his hips shifting to guide and capture Percival's thumb in just the right spot. Newt's hole was still loose, still slick, and Percival's fingers pushed in without difficulty.

Percival decided to tell Newt about the Floo call later. Much later. And he'd remind Newt about dressing up properly for dinner with his parents, too. But for now, Percival had more important things to do. He'd been hard since he arrived at the bedroom door and saw Newt spread out for him, and his plans to sleep a few more hours were abandoned in favour of something far more pressing.

Percival spread a generous amount of lube on his cock, hissing at how sensitive he was, and squeezed tightly enough to keep from coming until he'd bottomed out and left a few more bruises on Newt's skin. He groaned and held his breath until the violent cresting ebbed, only to look down when Newt grabbed a wrist where Percival pinned him in place.

Newt's grin was sleepy and full of mischief.

"Minx," Percival muttered, planting a kiss in between Newt's shoulder blades, and found that he didn't mind one bit that Newt had laid himself out like this on purpose.

Newt laughed, and Percival decided to punish him by fucking him until the sun rose higher in the sky.

(This morning, and the next, and every morning that Percival could have him, for the rest of their lives.)


End file.
